Internal Affairs

Since half the blog entries here have been about lunch, why not add another helping (see the food-related metaphor there?)

Enterprise reporter Dave Tarrant took Sunday Editor Tom Huang and me to Fuel City today. Fuel City. Picture the ever-burning stanchions of flames, the soot in the air, the smudged faces. Like a scene from Dante. That’s what the name “Fuel City” connotes. But no. Not even close. Even on a gloomy day like today.

Imagine the best tacos you’ve ever had. The line outside – under the drizzling rain – was probably 10 deep. Another line inside had a constant string of four or five customers waiting.

We lined up, ordered our variety of tacos ($1.16 per), waited for the woman in the window to announce our orders were in, and walked to the car to dine over Dave’s trunk. As we ate what Texas Monthly called the top tacos in Texas, we admired the lavender sky full of plump, moist clouds.

A group of day laborers sat on the fence separating the parking lot/dining area from the cattle. As we ate, a truck hauled dragged away the body of a pale long-horned beast with its eyes closed and its mouth open. We pondered whether it was alive. Since I’m the intern, I expected them to tell me it was “sleeping”.

I wiped up the salsa I’d dribble on the trunk (and not my shirt…for once), and we headed back to the daily grind.

I can still taste the cilantro.

Fuel City is across the highway if anyone is interested in going.